


For the first time (I will never let you go)

by Fatale (femme)



Series: Shameless porn [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, neal is a virgin why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:33:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When considering the issues he might come across having sex with Neal, Peter can admit that Neal’s sexual inexperience never even entered into the equation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the first time (I will never let you go)

Have some porn. Born of the [terrifying conversation I had here](http://fatale.livejournal.com/242717.html?thread=4230173#t4230173%E2%80%9D) with [](http://rabidchild.livejournal.com/profile)[**rabidchild**](http://rabidchild.livejournal.com/) about Neal being a sweet!ass-virgin, Peter introducing him to the joys of gay sex and then Neal becoming a shameless hussy.

 

For the first time (I will never let you go)  
Peter/Neal  
NC-17, pwp  
WC: Approx. 960

 

 

When considering the issues he might come across having sex with Neal, Peter can admit that Neal’s sexual inexperience never even entered into the equation.

“Never?” Peter asks disbelievingly.

“Why exactly,” Neal says, “does everyone assume I’m a slut? Is it the prison thing? Because I mostly played chess.”

“I’ve seen you flirt, with you know, men. Also - everyone.”

“It’s just flirting, isn’t it?” Neal says, a touch impatiently. “It’s not like I’m giving blowjobs in the bathroom.”

Peter shifts, grinds his palm down over his zipper, trying to get himself under control. “So, it’s just - you haven’t done anything?”

Neal shrugs. “Handjob here and there.” He leans over, rubs a hand over the bulge tenting Peter’s pants and Peter bites his lip to keep from making a desperate sound.

“Is this even what you want?” Peter asks a little desperately. He hopes the answer is yes; Peter might actually punch a wall and cry a little if the answer isn’t yes.

“Yeah, it’s not lack of interest or anything. It’s just never been right with another guy.” Neal punctuates his statement with a little squeeze that makes Peter’s toes curl.

Peter looks resolutely at the ceiling because if he sees Neal’s long, slim fingers on his crotch, he’s pretty sure he’s going to embarrass himself. This would be the time to talk through this, to make sure Neal gets what’s going to happen here, to make sure their feelings are sorted. Instead, Peter unzips, lifts his hips a little and slides out of his pants.

 

\--

 

“Breathe through your nose,” Peter says, voice tight and gasping. Nothing in his imagination has prepared him for the sight of Neal leaning over him, face reddened, lips tight around his cock. He’s making inelegant slurping noises that do as much for Peter as the not-quite-strong-enough suction of his mouth. God, he’s unreal.

He wants to curl his fists through Neal’s hair and fuck his mouth, a fact which he feels no little amount of shame.

“Okay, okay,” he says and pushes Neal’s shoulders back. Neal lets Peter’s cock slide out of his mouth with an obscene pop.

Neal scoots back in bed, eyes amused and eager, lips swollen.

“What do you want to do next?”

Neal licks his lips. “I figured we’d fuck.”

“Technically blowjobs are - never mind. Okay, yeah,” Peter says. Now is probably not the time to argue semantics. “Lay back, spread your legs.”

When he pushes the first slick finger in, a brief shadow passes over Neal’s expression, gone too quick to name. Peter searches his face, chasing the phantom emotion.

“Relax,” he murmurs, running a soothing hand over Neal’s flank, muscles jumping beneath his palm. Neal’s breaths are shallow and too fast.

Neal’s eyes flutter shut, eyelashes dark smudges across his flushed cheeks. He’s almost too lovely to look at directly. His mouth opens in a small gasps as Peter twists his finger, strokes deep.

Peter adds another finger gradually, then another until he feels Neal open up beneath him, loose and slick. “You ready?” Peter asks.

Neal nods, eyes still screwed shut. Peter crawls up, kisses Neal open-mouthed and sloppy, presses kisses into the delicate slope of his collarbones, the trembling muscles of his thighs.

“All right,” Peter says, slicks up and presses his cock slowly into Neal. He tries to take his time, he really does, when confronted with the feverish heat of Neal’s body, open beneath his. He wants to ask if Neal’s ready, if this is good for him. But.

Peter pulls out, pushes back in.

Neal hisses, drags a breath out long and unsteady between his teeth. He’s sweating, swearing softly, shaking. His eyelashes are damp spikes, sheets fisted in a white-knuckled grip and Peter thinks, oh. He cants his hips and pushes back in, slowly, deliberately and watches as Neal’s eyes fly open, a strangled sound falling out of his mouth.

Peter has the crazy urge to ask, Is it good for you, baby, but doesn’t because Peter’s done this before and yeah, it is. Also, he has to look Neal in the eyes tomorrow.

This isn’t going to last long -- Neal’s too willing, his body a tight clench of heat around Peter’s dick. He already feels the coil of pressure in his belly, the base of his spine. He fucks into Neal wildly, punctuated by soft groans, Neal saying his name over and over.

And then he doesn’t think at all, because Neal’s head is thrown back, neck a long, pale line, body tense like a guitar strung too tight, coiled and ready to snap, and then Peter’s coming, muscles burning, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

 

\--

 

He feels Neal smile against his arm, the lazy curl of his fingers against his cock. Oh God, he thinks, Neal’s ready to go again.

Peter’s dick feels like an overly-ripe, bruised peach. He suspects his balls might be shriveled like twin raisins. If he has sex again, he’ll only be able to shoot _dust_.

“Peter,” Neal says, mouths at the sweaty skin of his neck.

“Are you fifteen,” Peter demands. “How can you keep having sex?”

“It’s only been twice,” Neal protests. “What do you need, like half an hour? Because I can keep myself busy for half an hour.” He thrusts his hips lewdly against Peter’s ass.

Peter doesn’t need a half an hour, he needs _half a month_. He’s closer to fifty than forty and Neal’s younger, sure, but he should be ashamed at acting so _wanton_ at his age. “Down, you,” Peter says, swatting at Neal’s hand.

“Just put a couple of fingers in me,” Neal says in his best wheedling voice. “I’ll do all of the work.”

“I’ve turned you into a huge pervert,” Peter complains and reaches out a hand for Neal anyway, sheets rucked around their hips, warm and sweaty against their skin.

 

 

The end.

 


End file.
